Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ANOTHER CRUMB-Y DAY
“Let me walk you home from the hotel tonight, Kallie,” Casey says, his voice warm and hopeful.
I start to shake my head, but he barrels on.
“I can meet you after your shift. Maybe we can grab a drink at that little corner speakeasy you love. My treat.”
He waggles his light brown eyebrows at that last part, trying, and failing, to make me laugh.
It’s the same conversation we’ve had a hundred times over the last two years—whenever I have back-to-back shifts from the Gilded Bean to the H?tel Chateau Blanc. I usually clock out around eleven p.m., well after dark, and Casey insists on playing escort.
My answer is always the same: I’ll be fine.
The buses still run. The streets are quiet. I do this all week, every week, without issue.
Tonight won’t be any different.
Still, he’s laying the golden retriever puppy charm on extra thick. Paired with those green-hazel eyes of his behind glasses, I almost cave.
Almost.
“You just want to get me drunk,” I tease, waving a finger over my shoulder as I pack a sandwich for dinner.
“Maybe.” His voice dips slightly. “We haven’t gone out in a while. And you look cute with your cheeks all flushed from the alcohol.”
That… doesn’t sound like a joke.
I turn to look at him and immediately regret it. He’s standing closer now, one arm resting on the counter beside me, his bare chest radiating heat.
His eyes burn with something I can’t name. The look is intense enough that I shift on my feet under the weight of it.
No wonder women fall at his feet. Being on the receiving end of a look like that would make anyone go weak in the knees.
If he continues to try it on me, mine might go weak too.
But just as quickly, he clears his throat, pushes his thick-rimmed glasses up his nose, and steps back. He looks away, trying to play it cool.
“You shouldn’t walk alone in the dark,” he says, quieter now, but his hazel eyes are serious.
I sigh.
It’s bad enough he could charm the panties off anyone with those impossibly long lashes and the smattering of freckles on his nose, but he has to do the arguing without a shirt on? Like his abs might guilt me into giving up my only alone time?
Nice try, Roomie.
The truth is, that twenty-minute bus ride is the only time I get to myself to enjoy something fun—like reading a smutty novel where Captain Gorgeous is this close to seducing the maiden-in-disguise in the candlelit captain’s quarters.
If Casey came along, he’d talk the whole time…
and I’d miss the only action I’m getting this week.
I peek at the fridge where my budget goal chart is hung up with two magnets.
Almost there.
One more year and I’ll have the money required to go back to Grandma’s house and turn it into a Bed & Breakfast like we always dreamed.
I exhale and rub at the flower-shaped birthmark over my heart. The ever-present grief squeezes me unexpectedly tight.
“Don’t you have anything better to do than wait around for me?” I ask, trying to keep it light. “Hang out with friends? Play video games? I don’t know—maybe ask the cute receptionist out on a date instead of your roommate?”
I deliver that last tidbit with a poke to his chest, but it loses its effectiveness when doing so only ends up hurting my finger.
The man doesn’t even flinch, but raises his brown eyebrows at me, and I let out a small huff.
Damn him and his chiseled pecs.
I’m not even sure when he finds the time to work out. Maybe lifting heavy tires and tools all day is all that it takes?
He flashes one of his trademark lopsided grins—the one that’s impossible to ignore—and he knows it.
The grin morphs into a smug little smirk and that’s when I realize my mistake.
Curse my poor choice of words.
I said date and roommate in the same sentence.
Shit.
I usually avoid that landmine. Our just-friends arrangement was born out of convenience and shared ambition.
A clean, clear, drama-free setup before we chase our dreams and go our separate ways.
I’ll renovate Grandma’s house in Creek Haven into a B&B, and Casey will open his own auto shop in the city, bringing his clientele with him.
Simple.
Uncomplicated.
No feelings involved.
Except… he blurs the lines sometimes. And I’m starting to like it more than I should.
Which is a problem. Especially when I don’t have time to date someone else and get my head straight.
I grumble and stuff my sandwich into a brown paper bag, shouldering past him. But he just shrugs and runs a hand through his messy curls like he’s not painfully aware of what that does.
I totally don’t notice how the motion makes his pecs pop. Nope. Not at all.
“I’d rather not date someone from the shop,” he says. “Makes things awkward when it doesn’t work out.”
When, not if.
Last time I visited, it was painfully obvious that Sally, the cute new receptionist at the auto shop, was trying to climb him like a tree. She’d love a taste of Casey’s services, if you know what I mean.
It’s not lost on me that he tends to favor one-night stands over dating anyone long term. But that could also be because he, too, has plans on leaving this crappy apartment in a year. His goal chart hanging on the fridge beside mine shows he’s a lot closer to his goal than mine, though.
Then again maybe he’s just trying to avoid attachment. Can’t blame him.
Still, the guy’s working the nerdy-but-fit vibe hard these days. And he knows exactly what he’s doing.
Honestly, good for him.
One of us should be enjoying their twenties.
Although lately… he hasn’t been going out much.
And he’s been a bigger pain in my ass than usual.
Speaking of pain in the ass—I’m going to be late.
I grab my bag from the couch, find one of his shirts tossed over it, and chuck it at him. It hits him square in the chest, the scent of his cologne trailing after it.
He catches it without looking. Doesn’t even put it on.
“Come on, Kallie. Let me do this one thing for you,” he says.
His voice shifts—less teasing, more… sharp. “God knows you don’t let anyone ever do anything for you.”
When I don’t say anything and simply keep giving him the look, the one he gets anytime he gets on my last nerve and crosses a line, he swallows and nods.
Running a hand through his hair again, he messes it up even more before turning away, throwing his hands up in defeat.
We’ve done this dance for two years.
He knows where the lines are.
Knows what happens when he pushes past them.
One more year, Kal.
“See you later, Hotshot!” I shout, more snarky than I mean to be, watching his retreating back.
Satisfied I’ve won—for now—I head out of the building, grumbling to myself about another fight. They’ve been happening more and more lately.
Especially when I come home drenched like a drowned rat with my lacy red bra showing through my white shirt like last night.
I know he only means well. He can’t help but be over-protective. But we are not in a relationship and he needs to stop acting like we are.
I shake it off as I approach the bus stop. I need to focus. I have another long day ahead of me. Gilded Bean followed by Chateau Blanc.
I rummage through my bag for my bus pass, and glance toward the pizza shop across the street.
Fangerella’s neon sign is off.
Huh. That’s odd for lunchtime on a Saturday.
Maybe it’s one of those places that only opens for dinner.
That would explain why I hadn’t noticed it before.
Maybe I’ll grab another pizza tonight.
That last one was insanely good.
And garlic-free, just like he promised.
The thought of him makes my heart skip for no good reason. There’s something about him I can’t quite place.
But whatever it is… it pulls at me.
The bus pulls up and I hop on just as the doors hiss open.
As I settle into my seat, the city whirring past, I bite my lip.
Maybe I’ll test that warning he gave me after all.
The coffee shop is busier than usual.
So much for having the easier shift.
Normally, mornings are when all the interesting stuff happens, but there must be a conference or something in town because the foot traffic is heavier than usual.
The Gilded Bean is a posh, slightly pretentious coffee shop in the heart of the business district, mostly frequented by successful business types and the rich and famous who live nearby.
It’s also just a few blocks from the boutique hotel where I work nights, so the location couldn’t be more convenient.
There’s never a shortage of gossip when the rich are involved. The pay is decent, the tips are better, and the people-watching? Excellent. Some days more than others.
It’s almost always the same customers coming in at specific times, the way-too-expensive-for-me coffee apparently a must in their daily routines, so when a day like today brings more unfamiliar faces than usual, it’s noticeable.
I grab a tray and cloth and step around the counter to clean the small round tables tucked into the corner. Heaven forbid Miss Louis Vuitton, who just walked in with her two perfectly polished clones, has to sit at a table with crumbs.
I load up on empty mugs and plates, then give the table a quick wipe. On my way to the back, I stop beside a guy sitting alone, wearing sunglasses and a ball cap that says stud on the front of it, reading a newspaper.
“It’s especially bedazzling in here today, isn’t it?” I quip, gesturing to his sunglasses with a grin.
He startles and glances up at me from his newspaper, which I notice is dated from last week.
“Uh… yeah. A lot of shiny people here today.” He clears his throat, glancing around like he hadn’t realized he wasn’t alone. He reaches for the coat draped over the back of the chair beside him.
Wearing sunglasses inside, a quirky hat and reading an old newspaper… Yeah, something is not like the others here. Which is probably why I like him instantly.
“Can I get you anything else? Fresher news? A muffin to go with that hat?” I tease, letting my grin widen when I spot the faintest blush on the part of his cheeks not covered in stubble. Shame I can’t see his eyes because I’d bet money they’re gorgeous.
“Muffin? What…?” He blinks, clearly confused by my play on words.
Oh, bless. He’s adorably clueless.
“Stud muffin,” I say, tapping the brim of his hat. “Your hat says stud, and we sell muffins. If you want one, I could hook you up.”
I wink, then instantly blush. Did I just flirt?
Apparently, I did.
He clears his throat again and tugs at the collar of his black T-shirt as he stands.
“Um… no. Thank you. I was actually… uh… leaving.”
Nice going Kal. You’re scaring the cute guy away.
Clearly, I’m rusty in the pick-up line department.
My eyes follow him as he rises… and rises.
He’s tall. Really tall.
And somehow, in this sea of roasted beans and steamed milk, I catch the scent of something dark and rich—like the brownies Grandma used to bake. It’s ridiculous to think I can place the smell in a crowded coffee shop, but I know it’s him.
In his haste to leave—or escape from me, honestly hard to say—he bumps the table and sends his untouched coffee flying. The mug tips, liquid spilling across the newspaper, drawing the disdainful glares of the nearby suit-clad regulars.
“Stupid, clumsy, fangy fool…” he mutters, low enough that I doubt anyone else hears it.
But I’m still watching him.
Fascinated. Amused.
So I hear it.
Everything about him is just… adorably odd.
“Odd?” he repeats, eyes still down, dabbing at the mess with a pitiful napkin. “Perhaps compared to the kinds of people who frequent this place. But adorable? That couldn’t be further from the truth—if you knew anything about me at all.”
Wait.
Did I say that out loud?
He fumbles. “Which you don’t. Know anything about me, I mean. Because we just met. Today. Right now. In this… moment.”
He clamps his mouth shut like he’s trying to keep more words from tumbling out. He looks up at me, his blush turning an even deeper shade of red as it crawls down his neck.
We lock eyes—or I assume we do, even through his dark shades—and everything seems to freeze. Just one second.
But it stretches, like time caught its breath.
And just when I think something strange is happening again, a soft plop breaks the spell. And it’s as if all the sound rushes back in at once.
We both glance down. The soaked napkin has given up, sinking into the puddle of coffee.
I open my mouth to say he doesn’t need to clean up, but a loud, sharp laugh erupts behind me, making me jump. I turn, already annoyed, and spot Miss Louis Vuitton at her table, one of her clones whispering behind her menu.
By the time I look back…
He’s gone.
I scan the shop, but there’s no sign of him. No tall guy. No stud muffin. No trace. As if he just… vanished. Like he hadn’t been there moments before.
How does someone that tall vanish so fast?
I chuckle softly and shake my head, stepping toward the table to handle the mess… only to pause.
Because there is no mess.
The spilled coffee is gone. The newspaper is gone. The mug?
Clean.
And inside it, perfectly upright and seemingly untouched, is a single white daisy.
I stare at it for a beat then pick it up.
The petals are delicate, the scent soft and nostalgic.
I smile despite myself and glance toward the door, hoping to catch one last glimpse of him. But all I see are loud, glittering patrons sipping oat milk lattes like nothing unusual happened.
I sigh and turn back to the table, still holding the daisy.
Maybe today won’t be so bad after all.